I haven’t officially been diagnosed with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), though I suspect I do have bouts with it after my experiences of being in southwest Louisiana during Hurricane Laura on Aug. 27 of 2020.
Every four years there are certainties you can count on during presidential elections. Like clockwork, you go through this routine of excitement, interest, concern and eventually loathing, fatigue and frustration.
Hats off to our newspaper this weekend for spotlighting teachers. We dedicated this edition of the paper for teacher appreciation, and I can certainly jump on board.
There was a presidential debate this week, in case you didn’t know and have given up on politics in lieu of football season. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you did.
Sunday is Grandparents Day, and although my own grandparents have been gone for many years now, there isn’t a day when I don’t utilize the valuable lessons taught by my four amazing elders.
As most sports fans will attest, you become a creature of routine. Certain times of the year usher you into a strange universe. Such was the case this past week.
In a few short weeks, 300-pound men will be ramming their heads into each other for our enjoyment. It will be time for football, and I couldn’t be happier.
Born into a Cajun family that not only loves to cook, but also operated restaurants, you learn at an early age to appreciate good food, traditional family recipes and the joy of begin around family in that setting.
Some time back in the winter I received an obscure email, as editors normally do in our business. It was one of these wacky surveys that we have sent to us — daily, it seems — out of the blue.
Since I’m knocking on the door of turning 60 years old, I’m a little mellow these days. I don’t get riled up as quickly as I once did, when my Cajun blood would boil when ignited by some things I witnessed in the world.
